


Bad Guy

by Humanities_Handbag



Series: Protect [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Family, Protect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humanities_Handbag/pseuds/Humanities_Handbag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Man in the Moon is a hero. And hero's can't be bad. </p><p>Man in the Moon is not a bad guy... </p><p>Not really...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Or, alternately titled: Can You Tell I Hate This Character?
> 
> Man in the Moon gets what he deserves.

Man in the Moon was not a bad guy.

Watching over the children of the world, he protected and guided them. He chose warriors to bring to them what they needed most, fueled in turn by what they gave.

Wonder.

Hope.

Memories.

Good dreams and imagination.

He had created them to bring all of this to the children when times allowed them to have nothing. Spreading what already existed, but was hard to find. He did this and more for the children of the world. They were his children, after all. Every single one of them, and he wished no harm upon them.

Only bad people wished harm. He did not. Therefore, he was not a bad person.

Man in the Moon was not a bad guy.

Sanderson Mansnoozie had been first.

Created by the dreams of innocence around him, he'd been placed on the Earth to spread just that. Keeping the dreams of children alive seemed to be the most important element of any life. Even if the dreams were impossible, when asleep a child could do anything. And suddenly, when darkness fell, there was a light behind it to crack open the foreboding door and show children that nothing lay creeping in the shadows.

Man in the Moon wanted to keep their dreams perfect and whole.

Because he was, obviously, a good guy.

When he had created North, who would later take on many forms and names, all of them translating to one singular image, he had done to keep the wonder alive in the eyes of children. It was something to look forward to and savor, and small children, unlike adults, could hardly savor life like a glass of fine wine. They needed the event that made something special. The lights twinkling on trees, snow drifting through the air like frosted sugar, family and home and friends and presents wrapped with precious care.

He brought North to allow the savory taste of Wonder to slither across the roofs of towns. And he did it all because he was a good guy.

After all, Man in the Moon was most certainly not a bad guy.

Toothiana would be next. She collected what she could from where she could, leaving just as much behind. What she received was far more precious. Memories, they found, were far too much like gold. They tarnished, buried, forgotten and often sought after with copious amounts of effort. Gold, though, could bring out the worst in men, leaching from their souls the very ideas of humanity and existence and meaning. Toothiana only ever left one gold coin. But in the end, she returned memories, which brought back what shining and glittering elements could not.

Man in the Moon wanted nothing more than to preserve. Because that was what people of great worth did. And he was a person of great worth.

Not, at all, like a bad guy.

E. Aster Bunnymund was last. Kept alive when his species was slaughtered, the Pooka represented the hope in the world that some never had. He gave the strength to continue, move on, forget and remember. Eternal life and spring even when immortality itself was a concept far beyond the reaches of even creatures like him. He was a warrior, a protector, a fierce fighter and a stubborn ally. From the ashes he always found the best, even if his own demeanor rested, smoldering, in dying flames.

Man in the Moon wanted hope to be spread. Hope was spread by good guys.

He, _Man in the Moon_ , was a good guy.

Leading his small army of four, he had them defeat darkness. Over and over and over again, pushing it back into corners and underneath beds. They crushed fears and doubts, replacing them with light and hope and wonder and memories. They were there to keep everything and never let it dull. And they did, together, vanquish the evil doer who had, for so long, plagued children with fears beyond dreams and hopes and no return. They had defeated the bad guy.

Pitch was the bad guy.

Man in the Moon was the good guy.

That was just how it was, and how it would, forever, be. The stars intoned it, as did the universe. He was placed there just like he had placed them in their positions. To defend and create and protect. And he did all of it and more because he was a good guy.

Not a bad guy.

And then Jack Frost arrived.

Sinking to the bottom of a frozen lake, the Man in the Moon had found him. He was brave and strong and his heart, though frozen under layers of sluggish blood and cold skin, could beat more than any human could hope. He had saved his sister, as the Man in the Moon had helplessly watched, and gave up his own life in place of hers. The girl would cry and lose and grow and love and remember, but most of all she would  _live_. 

Life was nothing to the immortal Man in the Moon, but he could only assume that to humans it meant more than presents at Christmas Time. And the boy had given it up as easily as handing over a lump of coal.

He would have made a suitable guardian. Maybe not a perfect one. But a suitable one. Pitch would come back. Darkness would drown out the light. They needed another to help stanch it once again. Why not Jack Frost, the boy beneath the ice.

So he'd brought Jack back. Because that's what miracle workers and magicians do. And they were the good guys.

And Man in the Moon, like miracle workers and magicians, was a good guy.

He'd breathed life back, given the boy a name, and then he'd left. Sometimes people needed to figure things out for themselves in order to grow. Humans, immortals, beings alike were all the same- simply weeds and vines and tetchy seeds that had to be given room to discover which and what they were. And Man in the Moon certainly wanted him to grow. So he stayed silent and retreated back into the sky. And after that, he continued to watch.

The first hundred years passed, and Man in the Moon began to question his decision. The boy wasn't exactly as perfect as he had predicted him to be. With bravery and a heart that strong, he should have turned out better. There were no memories, but that hardly mattered. When memories were stripped, the personality was the same. He should have created new memories for himself. Instead, the boy had created a new person.

The second hundred years he was almost sure that he'd made an unwise decision. The boy was a nuisance. He did his job correctly, spreading winter when the seasons commanded it. But that was all he did. There was no love for children, or a longing to protect. He focused far to much on himself, the selfish lad, asking to be seen, noticed, praised, and, in more curious instances, scolded. He got into tussles with the elementals, all of whom had been around long before he ever had and he'd challenged any that crossed his path. 

And to make matters worse, he got in the way of his original warriors.

Sanderson was patient, much to the Man in the Moon's delight and confusion. How anyone could put up with the annoyance was a mystery. But the man did. Not that the Man in the Moon wasn't annoyed himself and had, upon occasion, tried to reason with the small golden man about possibly focusing more on his work then the small pale child. Sanderson had finally given in with a slow nod and saw the boy far less after that.

Man in the Moon was hardly impressed when the Sprite had tried to break into North's workshop.

He was disturbed when the young boy kept the small workers of Toothiana distracted as they watched him far more than doing their work.

And to even discuss what poor E. Aster Bunnymund had to go through… The Rabbit was constantly harassed, annoyed, bothered and poked fun at by the Spirit of Winter. The two clashed far more than anyone could have expected, not that the Man in the Moon was surprised. He had seen the way the boy had behaved. He'd watched him for two hundred years. Hope needn't be wavered just because a small boy and a magic staff steal precious eggs.

Whenever the two had fights Man in the Moon rooted for Bunnymund. The Pooka was, after all, his original child. The boy he had brought back to life, an action he regret more and more every day, deserved every harsh word he received. And Bunny was good at doling. 

Man in the Moon needed to protect his own children, after all, because that was what parents did. And parents were good guys.

And Man in the Moon, like a parent, was a _good guy_.

It wasn't easy living with his decision to bring the child back. There was no way to reverse the process, not that he'd want to. He was not a bad guy, and only bad guys would go through with such a horrible deed. So he did everything else instead. He'd seen naughty children receive coal from North. The action hardly meant that said child was any less loved, but instead allowed the child to realize their mistakes and redeem themselves later.

Man in the Moon decided to give Jack Frost coal.

There was no way to give it literally, having no access to the odd, sooty rock. So he gave it as figuratively as he could. Silence, he found, was a great substitute as a temporary punishment. If the boy shaped up his act, like a small child with coal at Christmas, then he'd be given what he asked for.

The boy never shaped up.

And as the years went on, he continued to get worse.

" _Please_ …" The Man in the Moon would often hear, late at night. It was always the Frost child from a roof or tall tree, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. " _Please_ … can't you tell me who I am… _why I'm here_?"

The Man in the Moon wouldn't answer. The boy had frozen streets and towers.

The nights went on, as did the silence.

"I want to talk to someone. No one can see me. _Please_ … _help me_?"

The Man in the Moon wouldn't answer. The boy had made children slip.

The nights continued, as did the punishment.

"… I don't want anything anymore. Just… one good dream… I have nightmares. No one likes me and I have nightmares."

The Man in the Moon wouldn't answer. The boy had broken into workshops, warrens, castles and boxes.

The nights added up, as did the nightmares and the solitude and the days and the years and the centuries.

By the three hundredth year Man in the Moon was sure he'd made the wrong decision, and had decided to never speak to Jack Frost again. It was only suitable. He'd have to reap the seeds he'd sowed. Never once had an improvement occurred, the boy continuing down a quick spiral. 1968 had been a great year to lay the final seal on his decision.

Sometimes, to be the good guy, you had to make tough decisions.

And then Pitch Black had returned.

Slinking back from the shadows like a Spector towards the mist, Darkness had once again emerged. Not even his own light could have stopped the man. And there wasn't enough power to keep nightmares from being reined and saddled.

He'd had to call in Jack Frost.

No one had been particularly happy about it. 

And in the end, his years of silence and constant observation only helped to show just how right he had been. The boy was selfish, placing himself before others. Going off to find his memories after they'd keened in the night, losing Easter and plunging the world into an almost darkness. There had been a doubt in his mind that he'd been wrong long ago, lingering in the back of his brain and echoing across the milky way.

The final test had been far too tangible to allow doubt to reside any longer.

Good guys always had to know when it was time to let go. He'd let go of Jack, knowing that he'd no longer be needed. Cutting all ties, giving him back to the water, knowing that in time he'd simply disappear. A creation and a waste, but an experience to learn from, to be certain. 

And then something…

… the word was not the easiest to find. Hardly gratifying, not wondrous, slightly unimaginably.

Something  _surprising_  took place. Something he could hardly predict.

Jack was getting what he wanted.

Suddenly he was seen. And then praised. And then allowed to join the guardians, of all things. He had hardly allowed that, not that he could put his foot down. Who they did and didn't give the oath to was not in his jurisdiction- he'd given up that right as soon as he'd created them all. But it shouldn't have occurred.

Jack was greedy, untrustworthy and deserved nothing. And suddenly he was given everything.

And then, as if by some cruel twist of fate, the Guardians, one by one, began to forget.

Sanderson had been the first, turning his back on his own Lunar brother.

Toothiana, scoffing up into the sky as she flew towards London one night, had not talked since and had left their relationship hanging by a strange silver threat.

North had screamed towards the nebulas, angry words that made no sense at all. He couldn't do much for the Frost child, nor would he want to. But he had never  _hurt_  the boy. And yet the Cossack accused him of doing just that. And then he'd never spoken to him again. The skylight, usually opened when decisions had to be made, had been boardered shut and painted over. The yeti's had been given instruction never to converse with the Man in the Sky. And all meetings had been made private and without him.

He was lost to reason and events, with no idea of what had happened and what was to come. 

Bunnymund had been last. That had been the strangest of all separations. The Pooka represented hope, and with a snap of his fingers had taken it from The Man in the Moon. He'd stared at the night sky with green eyes, ears erect and fists clenched. He'd looked ready to say something, but it had dissipated and crumbled on the tip of his tongue. And then-

"We don' deserve him, yunno that?"

The Man in the Moon listened, furrowed against a backdrop of static. 

"Then again, neither d'you." Aster had paused, eyes flickering across craters, eyes reflecting moonlight. "But that's akay. Ya never really did."

The Man in the Moon stayed quiet.

"We all jes' want ya ta know that he's ours. Not yers. Ours."

_I created him._

Good guys always knew when to take credit for their creations, no matter what they were. No matter if they were mistakes. 

Aster shook his head, as if disgusted by the voice. "Yeah, ya did. And we wanna thank ya for it." He shuffled, looking away before looking back for what must have been the last time. "Everything's our fault. But it was yours first. He just wont blame anyone, and we don' wanna blame you. But that's fine." Another angry glare, ears twitching. "But thanks all the same." And then he'd looked away and bounded down a rabbit hole and that had been that. 

He'd would never return to speak to his creator again.

And the Man in the Moon was confused.

They weren't supposed to have the reaction they did. The boy deserved what he had gotten. And he'd apologized to the lad twice for crimes that hardly merited a gesture. Not that the boy had appreciated either. But he'd been cast out. His own creations had cast him aside so easily, bringing the one he'd revived into their life. And for whatever reason, they seemed to protect him…. From the Man in the Moon.

No child needed protection from the Man in the Moon. He was the good guy. Good guys were not ones you kept others from.

And yet…

Sandy ensured the boy received the best dreams he could create- throwing away his valuable sand.

North ensured that the boy received all the attention he claimed the child required- though the Man in the Moon  _knew_  that he needed far less.

Toothiana made certain that whenever he needed it, his memories were accessible- a comical treatment towards the Man in the Moon's creation, who was made without memories to become a perfect specimen dictated by bravery and fun and compassion.

And Aster…

The two had clashed before. He'd watched them. They'd hardly shared one moment without a small war breaking out. Yet all of a sudden the Pooka was attached to the boys side. He dolled out protection, guidance, warmth and shelter. It was all from _guilt_. That was all it could have been, the Man in the Moon had reasoned, and it was a waste of hope.

All of it was a waste.

Watching over the children of the world, he protected and guided them. He chose warriors to bring to them what they needed most, fueled in turn by what they gave.

Wonder.

Hope.

Memories.

Good dreams and imagination.

He had created them to bring all of this to the children when times allowed them to have nothing. Spreading what already existed, but was hard to find. He did this and more for the children of the world. They were his children, after all. Every single one of them, and he wished no harm upon them.

Only bad people wished harm. He did not. Therefore, he was not a bad person.

He was the good guy. He  _was_  the good guy. He had created hope and wonder and dreams and light and memories. He had defeated the darkness. He had stanched the nightmares.

He had even given Jack Frost a second chance at light.

Man in the Moon was not a bad guy. He could not be the bad guy.

He just couldn't be…

… Right?

* * *

"Hey, Bunny?"

The Pooka glanced up from the egg he was painting to look at the boy in front of him sitting cross legged on a wooden chair, staring out the window. It was late, and the Sprite should have been in bed. But the storm that had occurred that day by natures own design had left him with too much energy to spare. The meeting that day had left them all exhausted and lagging, the trip there being hard enough itself, and yet a single white haired child seemed to refuse to give in to the call of the Sandman himself. Aster had simply told the others not to worry about it, and that they could all go to bed. He would stay up with Jack until the 'little ankle biter' finally fell prey to sleep, no matter how long it took.

Aster, though he wouldn't say it, refused to leave the boy alone for too long. He'd done that for enough time as it was, and though ten minutes in a kitchen could never equate 300 years, at that moment it would have to be enough. 

"Hmm…?"

The blue eyes hardly wavered, staring up through crystal panes towards the lunar rock hanging low in the sky. "Why don't you invite Manny to any meetings anymore?"

"What are ya babblin' on about now, Frostbite?"

Jack shrugged. "North used to talk to him more at meetings when I first got here. Now he doesn't. He just kinda ignores him. And Sandy doesn't sign 'moon' anymore." He shrugged again, the hood of his sweatshirt bouncing lightly as he did.

Aster fell silent for a moment. Then he picked the egg back up. "I dunno."

"He still doesn't talk to me." Jack didn't notice when the Pooka flinched. "I try to talk to him, but he doesn't answer."

"What d'ya say?" The question was stiff, the conversation leading to paths Bunnymund would have rather not ventured down. The Moon wasn't really his favorite topic nowadays.

"Sometimes I say thanks, I guess. I still have questions for him."

"Like what?" He painted the same line for the third time, his pattern forgotten.

"Why I was… just… just a lot of why questions." Hope suppressed another wince. The past was still a touchy subject for the newest guardian. And though Aster had been slowly chipping away at the tougher than nails shell, he'd made a dent where hundreds of years subtracted could have already cracked it.

"Oh…" another line painted. "I'm sure you'll get the answer someday, Frostbite. Ask North… he might know."

"Do you think he'll ever answer."

 _No_ , Aster wanted to say. But he bit hit tongue and shook his head. "I ain't one ta say. He don't talk much though, so I wouldn't be puttin' bets on it."

"You don't talk to him anymore." Jack's eyes finally moved as his head turned towards the anthropomorphic rabbit. The light from the moon shadowed half his face, leaving the other to turn the shade of milk. His head tilted as it did so often, and the frost white hair followed suit, small spikes bending like grass.

Bunny shook his head, looking up, and felt his ears sway. "No. I don't."

"Are you going to?"

His green eyes found the moon for a brief second, then flickered back. "No."

"Why?"

"Shouldn't y' be goin' ta bed 'r somethin'?"

"Why don't you talk to him."

Aster paused once more, and then chuckled. "Remind me never ta' let ya stay up this late again. Yer as stubborn as a rattler, ya are, at this hour."

The boy tilted his chin in the air. "I'm always stubborn."

"Yeh, trust me, I know." He settled back, crossing his broad arms, the egg forgotten altogether. "I jes… don't." A deep sigh, another long glance at the moon. Some part of him wished the moon was listening. "It's just… Some things change over time, I guess. Nothin's really perm'nant. And I thought somethin' was one thing… but it ain't."

Jack furrowed his brow. "That's stupid… what's that supposed to mean!?"

"It means it's bed time."

"Wha- how does that mean that!"

"It just does. March."

"You can't tell me what to-"

" _March!_ "

There was some grumbling under cold breath, but Frost did eventually shuffle off the chair, moving towards the door of North's kitchen with heavy steps, Aster stretching in place behind him. The handle squeaked under freezing fingers.

"Hey, Frostbite."

Jack froze in place, glancing back towards his elder. The rabbit stood, arms still crossed, his body blocking the moon from sight. The light etched around him, creating a dull silhouette.

"Yeah?"

"You know that we're here, right? Ya can ask us questions whenever ya want."

There was silence for a moment. The kitchen had been used earlier that day to cook a feast, and the smell of cinnomon and cloves and something _rich_ still permeated around them. It was soothing and nauseating all at once and Aster sunk into it, watching Jack sway on his feet before him, the child losing a battle quickly to sleep. 

"Jack?" he prodded.

"Yeah. I do."

"Good." A nod. "And… you wanna know why I don't talk to the moon anymore?" More silence, deafening. From somewhere in the workshop North snored. The hum of fairy wings as teeth were deposited in a never ending cycle. He advanced, his feet heavy on the floor. "It's cuz I'm happy. That's all."

Wrinkles formed on the pale forehead, mouth turned down, eyes blinking a lazy rhythm. "How-"

"No more questions." He pointed. "Bed." Jack mumbled again, something about dumb answers, and slipped out the door, his near silent feet moving across the carpet and out of the ear shot of even the sensitive ears of a Pooka.

Aster waited until he heard a door click shut, and then he went back and gathered his supplies. With a brush and paints in one hand, a half finished googie in the other, he approached the window.

"I wasn't lyin', ya know." He told the moon, who looked down solemnly. "I don't talk t'ya anymore cuz. I'm happy. Happy he's here. We only talk'tya when we needed help, but we don't need it anymore. He asks us, and that's all there is to it. We don' need you anymore." He shrugged. "Keep shinin' in the sky though, he likes you even if we don't. " And with that, he shut the curtains and turned on his heel.

* * *

Jack Frost lay on his bed, spread out, the covers discarded on the floor. Which was enough of a surprise. The prospect of an actual _bed_ was still new to the Sprite, and when North had presented him with one he'd barely known what to do with it. Tree branches and forest floors, frosted and cool and mossed over, had become his home. Blankets and comforters and downy mattresses were luxuries he'd never thought possible. And for a time it had been normal to find the small boy fast asleep atop the beams of the workshop or far gone on a windowsill. But finally, little by little, beds had become habits.

They had all mutually promised at that point on to give enough to the child so that habits weren't ever something so _horribly_ needed. 

The fatigue of the day had aided somewhat, though, to the Spring Guardian's great relief. The smaller of the two had gone to sleep far quicker then he'd have liked, wanting to show the stupid rabbit by staying awake until the dawn. He'd hardly lasted ten minutes. Too deep into sleep was he to notice the moonlight shifting across the floorboards, inch by inch, until the moon was able to glance through the large, open windows, towards the previously invisible boy.

He was the reason that the Man in the Moon had been shunned. And yet the boy didn't even realize it had happened.

The Man in the Moon was the good guy. Not some small boy with annoying tendencies, selfish nature and a constant need for attention. The Man in the Moon required hardly anything, simple asking for what he had given back. His nature was humble and reasonable, not like the boy who acted as if he needed everything in the world, receiving it without even having to ask.

The boy was hardly a bad guy. But he was not a good guy either. Not like the Man in the Moon.

So why had things worked out as they had.

A little while later the Rabbit had poked his head into the room. Shuffling in, so as not to wake the child, he'd pressed his cold nose to the even colder brow, snuffling fondly. The boy moved, but didn't wake, only shifting slightly in sleep. Hope stood by for another minute, watching the Jack Frost, the Man in the Moon's creation, with an expression that could only be labeled as affection. Pure, unwavering affection. And then, with a final soft tussle to the white hair, he walked towards the window.

Paws fell on drapes, as if wanting to close those as well. There was hesitation. And then the paw dropped, leaving the fabric to quiver for a moment, but not to close. The Man in the Moon could still see the boy. And for some reason, he knew the Pooka had intended it to be that way.

And all The Man in the Moon could do was watch from above, unwanted and unneeded.

Which made no sense, because only bad guys were unwanted and unneeded.

And the Man in the Moon was  _not_  a bad guy.

Not at all.


End file.
